HIGH WINGS

An airline you own 'neath the midnight sun
'Neath the midday dark and the chill
Your assets a one-engine high-wing plane
Your luck, brains, courage and skill.
Strange are your loads, for no two are alike
And sometimes you've flown for free
Your logbook reads like "The Call of the Wild"
You're an adventurer, wild and free

In wintertime, warming the engine
Means lighting a fire underneath for a time
And take-off at dawn
Means waiting till noon
As into the twilight you climb.
And landing in snowstorms on skis is a thrill
As you feel your way down through the slop
A river you see, so you schuss on the snow
And you pray it stays flat till you stop!

The midsummer sun is so warm and so bright
You'd think you could fly without care
On floats, with all those lakes, rivers and ponds
You'd think you could land anywhere
But the snags you don't see can rip up your floats
And then, friend, you've got to walk home
A hundred long miles to the nearest small town
Through bears–and tundra–alone!

Glaciers are fun any time of the year
For those parties who want you to land
On frost-giant faces you dodge the crevasses
And the wailing willawa wind
With oil and eggs and a stove and some pills
And a caribou carcass you fly
A woman and kids and a gold-miner's poke
'Cause you're part of the Sourdough Skies
You're part of Alaska's skies.